Relief
by ResDes2
Summary: Finn worries about his sex life and why he isn't getting any. Slight angst. Smut later. Good emotional depth I hope . Straight AND slash. No like, no read. But comment.
1. Chapter 1

**Let's get some things straight off the bat. First off, I'm bi. So there will be some gayness in that story. If you do not like, then do not read. **

**I am not angsty. I just couldn't think of a better title. And it is sort of angsty. **

**I do not own Finn. Or any Glee character. **

**This will only slightly follow Glee setup. I do not write it because I want to profess my love to Glee. I am just using the storyline for my plot. I am not using Finn because he is very sexy (that is for later chapters). He is just in the same boat as I and we are feeling the same emotions. At least, I am making him. **

**I may need a beta. This may be complete crap. **

**I do not have time to post every day. You have to wait. I may get bored with this story and write another one. This has happened many a time. Sorry. Deal with it. Though I am actually interested in the emotional tone of this story. So you're lucky. I may actually finish this one. **

**Ok? Ok. **

**Here comes the crap. **

**POV of Finn unless otherwise noted.**

**Tell me what you think. Keep going with this? I know nothing has happened, but still. Also, sorry for long intro. **

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I can see the bumps in the ceiling. The paint lines. The reality is that its not smooth. From far away it seems smooth, but I can see the brush strokes. I can see the cover up. They tried to make it exciting, instead of white. They tried for perfection. All they got were mess ups you can only see from far away. Or if you pay close attention. Or...whatever. The point is they're there and they're a metaphor for me.

My ass begins to hurt. So does my back. I've been lying on this bed for too long. I was just too lazy to move. Is lazy the right word? More like I'm having a panic attack. I think. What do those feel like? I don't think I've had one. I had crises. Not major crises, just normal teenage boy crises. Like my girlfriend is pregnant. And I haven't done anything with her.

I try and move, but my body won't let me. I lay there motionless. I try and get up, but it seems impossible. I'm incapable of getting up and living my life. The pressure from everyone is pushing me down, forcing me to lie in this bed. I hate it. I hate it so much.

Outside, the sun is bright. It's a nice day outside. I should be outside. Instead I'm lying here, staring at the ceiling, feeling incompetent. I should be doing something, but I can't. I just lay here. Tired. Angry. Alone? I don't know.

My girlfriend is pregnant. And I'm a virgin. It's like God spitting me in the face. I have to face the child and I have to face the fact that I'm a virgin. I have to be an adult without any of the perks. I'm a virgin father. All holy, all pure, all loser. The definition of loser. My life sucks.

The reason that caused this depression is this: Puck just sent me a text. And by "just" I mean an hour ago. It reads, "Just got head. She swallowed."

Puck's already getting blown. I haven't even stuck my dick into another person and I have a child and he's getting his dick sucked. It's almost completely unfair. I'm a loser and I'm a virgin and I'm behind everyone. I'm not a man. I'm not even a human. I'm a disgrace.

I never had a father to teach me this stuff. He left so long ago. No male presence in my household. Maybe that's why I'm not getting any. The media is telling me to get my dick wet, but I don't know how. What am I supposed to do?

I feel like moving. I feel like thrashing. I feel like expressing myself in some way. I just have no idea how to. How am I supposed to feel relief? Should I sing? Should I scream? Should I fuck? Should I just give up and kill myself?

My body lies awkwardly on the bed. My feet hang over the edge. My entire body is awkward. I'm an idiot. Maybe that's why no one will screw me. Why Quinn won't fuck me. She doesn't want to be a virgin. She wants to keep my tiny prick in my pants. And I'm fat.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I judging myself like this? I'm good-looking...I think. Why don't girls want me? Do I not want to fuck girls?

I imagine doing the nasty with Puck. How could we even do it? How do I even do it with Quinn?

All these stories I hear. Guys getting fucked by 15. I'm 15. Why am I not getting any? I'm the quarterback. Everyone loves me. Why am I behind? Why do so many guys boast about getting laid? Why don't I get laid? Why the fuck am I a virgin? I shouldn't be a virgin. I'm not smart, so I can't take that excuse. I'm not ugly, so I can't take that either. I'm the epitome of the guy who only thinks about sex. The one who gets fucked at fifteen.

Damn standards.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, this is gonna suck more than my first chapter. My first chapter had meaning and foreshadowing to chapters later down the line (you see...a good author does these things...I good author). This is to get the plot moving. Yeah. This might just suck. Bear with me. Throughout the entire story, actually. **

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Chapter 2

Rachel stood in front of me as she talked at me. I loitered on the locker.

I never noticed before, but as she talked, she is really hot. I know I have Quinn and all, but I can look at other women, right? I mean, Quinn's great and all, but she won't give me what I want. And I don't feel we're right. We're supposed to be, but...something doesn't click.

But Rachel. Her lips. Those plump, red lips. Moving as she sped through her words. Meaningless words. It's all meaningless. Making the shape of a kiss as she talks about pepperoni. Biting her lower lips as she talks about her red dress. So plump. I can imagine them squeezed against mine.

I can imagine her supple breasts squished against my chest. Her heart beating with mine, radiating heart and life throughout her body. This tintilating sensation I've never felt with Quinn. With Quinn, I feel pressured. I feel like I need to be with her. I am being pushed into her. But with Rachel, I want to be pushed. Not pushed. I want to pull her against me. I want to bring her close. I don't want to be brought to her.

I imagine her nose locking with mine as we kiss. Her hands holding mine. Her legs intertwining with mine. Me, her key, locking into her. The perfect fit. I imagine her legs widening as she rides my thigh, her skirt running up, her frilly underwear beginning to show. I imagine grabbing her ass, pulling her closer. She moves slightly to find the right spot. Comfort. It will all be comfortable. Not like with Quinn in a hottub. It would be magical. Like on television. Like it's supposed to.

I imagine her lips moving against mine the way she talks. But in slow motion. And sensually. Her fingers caressing my body. Wanting to touch me. Wanting to be close to me. Her breath mixing with mine. Sensual. Not sexual. Romantic. Hot.

I cross my legs to hide my erection.

"Finn, there's something I need to tell you," she says allowed. In her singsong voice. Some people would say its shrill or annoying. They'd call her a bitch. I'd say that she is just misunderstood. By others and herself. Confused. Delicate. I love her voice.

"What is it?" I asked, breaking out of my day wet dream.

"I overheard somewhere..."

"Yeah?"

"And Quinn's baby isn't yours."

**Like you weren't expecting it. I needed to add it to my story. I'm sorry. I hope you like the long explanations. Sexual frustration causes a lot of things to be said about the body. Keep reading. And comment. I try and keep writing. **


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